The Long Noir Tea-Time of the Soul
Disclaimer: I do not own Noir or any other work by studio Bee-Train, nor am I affiliated with Funimation or ADV. This is a non-profit story written for entertainment only. I am making nothing on this.
Paris was festive as Midnight approached on New Year's Eve, and the air was filled with the kind of mix of jolliness and regret that only the coming of a new year can bring. For some reason, though the day has no real significance beyond marking the end of one period of time and another, and thus should be no more important or celebrated as one second leading into another, people found it proper to lavish their attentions on this particular passing of time, singling out as some special. Whether that something special had good or bad connotations largely depended on the person giving the day meaning and how many drinks they had during the day.
In the penthouse of an otherwise ordinary set of apartments lay two girls, one around her early twenties, the other somewhere in her late teens, spread out on a bed, seeking to avoid the hubbub outside and enjoy the coming of the New Year in relative peace and quiet. Little would anyone have known if, had they seen them on a street, for example, that they were just a couple years earlier two of the deadliest assassins in the entire world, operating under the alias of Noir. Events transpired that almost led to the death of both of them, and they resolved then to quit the whole assassination business and live lives fighting the darkness of the world, in a manner which they deemed fit. This mostly consisted of just passing the days peacefully, confident in the knowledge that their slaughter of the Soldats at the Manor had left a clear message that they were not to be fooled with.
"It's getting close to Midnight, Mireille." Spoke the teenager, Kirika, perhaps the most unassuming-looking Japanese girl who ever existed. So normal was her appearance that one would scarcely realize that she possessed the capability of slaughtering dozens of armed men by herself in a manner of minutes. She was laid across the top portion of the bed, her legs hanging off the bed.
"Yeah." Spoke the young blond woman who was laying in a more conventional matter on the bed, but with her feet hanging off the end of it. Her head was near Kirika's, and the general disposition of the girls around each other gave hint of a great closeness. Indeed, they were each the center of each other's personal universe, and would both gladly die for the other if needed. After the ordeal at the Manor, they had grown much closer to each other than before.
They had no clue what was about to happen.
N~o~i~r
Outside, in the crowds that formed in the streets, a figure weaved through the crowd. It wore a large great coat that was fastened, a large scarf wrapped tightly around the lower portion of the face, and most of the rest of the head was covered by a particularly large beanie.
The figure made its way through the crowds, its goal the apartment a few streets away. Though little can be defined of purpose by the way a figure moved, it is most definitely possible to deduce that one moves with purpose. This figure moved just that, its gaze continuously fixed ahead.
Elsewhere, wandering among the streets was a young man with longish brown hair. His name was Peter Calhoun, though this was not his real name. He had awoke in southern France sometime late in 2011, with absolutely no memories whatsoever of how he got there or who he was. After a few weeks he proved to be adept with financial matters, and he was able to secure a job at a business based in Paris. He adopted his name from two of his benefactors, Peter Teilhard, the farmer who had found him lying out in his field and took him in until he was able to get back on his feet, and Marcus Calhoun, a businessman from the U.K. who had recognized his acuity with business.
He was wandering the streets because he had no real idea what he should be doing at the moment. These moments always troubled him, and he tried wandering aimlessly in the hope that whatever it was that was bothering him would somehow get lost during his walk and leave him in peace. Oftentimes these moments came upon him whenever he saw any mention of the nations of Nafrece, Gazth-Sonika, or the company Bookwald in the news or elsewhere. He felt like they had something to do with his missing memories, but whenever he tried to focus on them, it felt him with a riot of emotions, most of them quite painful and negative.
Peter Calhoun knew that his current life was a lie; however, he was perfectly okay with this, and would have preferred to continue on as he was and leave all of that mysterious past business behind him. Unfortunately for Peter Calhoun, he was to meet somebody on his walk tonight, and he would be forced to meet very soon with a past he wanted absolutely nothing to do with.
N~o~i~r
Somewhere along the border of France and Spain, an odd man wearing a purple robe crouched before a pit of fire. To call it a pit of fire is actually a misnomer; it was more like a large marble floor with a central vent with stairs leading away from it that opened above a large lake of magma far below. It was like calling an Olympic Swimming Pool a sink. The odd man in purple seemed fairly apprehensive, and despite there being nobody visible, was speaking.
"Yes… yes, it has been done… the plans have been set in motion, O Great One. Our contacts with our allies have also assured us that their plans have been set in motion as well. We shall know from our own agents soon whether or not our part of the plan has been accomplished."
The magma below seemed to belch meaningfully, and the odd man arose and made his way towards the exit.
N~o~i~r
Kirika and Mireille sat by the window, waiting for the inevitable fireworks to start outside. It was only a minute away from midnight, and they were already counting down mentally in their heads. At about the twenty second mark, they nodded towards each other, and began chanting along with undoubtedly millions of others within the time zone.
"Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen!" they chanted quietly.
The figure from the streets before had finally reached its destination and was busy climbing the stairs of the building towards the room of the former assassins.
"Twelve, eleven, ten, nine!"
The figure was now standing before their door. It pulled something form its coat and poised it in a striking motion.
"Four, three, two, one!" at the finishing of the countdown, both girls raised their voice slightly and shouted "Happy New Year!". Just as they did that, however, they heard a large thud on their door. Both of them lost their cheerful demeanor instantaneously, and looked both towards the door. Nervous apprehension had taken root on both of their faces. They both thought that if this was the doing of their enemies, they sure picked one hell of a time to act against them. After a minute passed by, they nodded to each other and slowly got up. They grabbed their pistols, both hidden safely under the desk they had bought over a year ago following the events at the manor, and slowly approached the door. They took up opposite sides of the entrance and exchanged looks with each other. One nodded to the other, and as Mireille threw the door open, Kirika lunged into the doorway with her gun ready to fire at whoever was stupid enough to be standing in the way.
There was nobody there, however; after a careful scouting of the hallway, they found no sign that anybody was waiting for them in ambush. As they retreated towards their room, they noticed for the first time that something had been pinned to their door. They rightfully assumed that it was the source of the noise they had heard earlier. Upon reaching the door, they grabbed both the object that was pinning the other object to the door and the object itself and went inside, slamming the door behind them.
They looked at the two objects. Upon examining them for about a moment, a feeling of great terror overcame both of them, for they were both intimately familiar with the objects that had been left for them. Mireille held the object that was pinned to the door: it was a pocket watch. Not just any pocket watch, but the pocket watch that was the clue to the mystery of her parents' mysterious death and Kirika's past. Mireille clicked it opened, and the haunting melody began playing, filling her and Kirika with dread beyond belief. Their last memories of the watch were that it had broken at the manor, and that they had left it behind them; the fewer remaining links to their previous life, the better. However, somebody had gone through the trouble of finding that watch and repairing it.
However, it was the object that was pinning the watch to the door that filled them with the most dread, as the implications of it were more terrifying than anything else could ever be to them besides the possibility of imminent death. Kirika held the object aloft, completely at a loss of what to say, for what she was holding was a very, very familiar-looking olive fork, the last time which she saw it was as it lay next to the dead body of Chloe.
Little did they know at the time, but that they very much suspected, was that their lives were about to become very interesting, and very, very confusing.